


Tag

by lady_ataralasse



Series: Ficlets, Plaid, and Pie, OH My! [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, F/M, Fellatio, Ficlet, PWP, Sam is a hot as fuck switch, Sex, Sex Games, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Vaginal Sex, established relationship between you and Sam Winchester, light dom/sub play, this is a little too long for a ficlet . . . whoops, works sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-21
Updated: 2015-02-21
Packaged: 2018-03-14 11:20:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3408695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long shitty week at work, Sam lets you play a game of tag and let off some pent up steam on him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tag

♪ _Animal_ by Maroon 5♪

What a crap-tastic day. _Earn some legit money_ , you said. _How hard can it be_ , you said. Office work _sucks_. An entire crappy week of unpaid overtime, unreasonable deadlines, ridiculous expectations, shitty equipment, and technical glitches, and you are ready to burn the place to the ground. Being an alpha and having to submit to the whims of others' incompetent bullshit is pushing you to the wall, and you need to push back in the worst way.

You've been texting Sam all day about the final level of hell in your shitty week so he knows where you're head’s likely to be at when you got home. When you come through the door, there’s a note, clipped to a long scarf: "Dean and Cas aren't home. Tag; you're it."

"Damn right I'm it." You reply aloud with a satisfied smirk. You take your things to your room, changing work clothes for something that allows movement and decent running shoes.

What is the best thing about being a switch in the bunker? Sam. The game is sort of like Tag. Sam hides. When you find him, he can run if he wants to, but when you "catch him," he has to follow you obediently to his room and take care of you. You "catch him" by tying the scarf around an ankle or wrist.

Outside you room, you creep through the bunker on cat's paws. It never ceases to amaze you how Sam can hide himself so well, large as he is. When you find him, he is reading in one of the cars in the garage. He’s clearly been there awhile hiding and gotten comfortable. He’s more interested in the chase and capture than the hunt anyway, and he knows it’s the same for you. Once he hears you come in the room, he puts the book down and starts moving at a speed that makes up for his casual hiding spot.

You chase him through the garage, the library, and finally corner him in the kitchen by sliding _over_ the table instead of around and snag his wrist when he tries to run again. The chase felt good, but the look on Sam's face when you catch him after such a short pursuit is even better. He didn't expected it, and so when the scarf wraps around his wrist, it takes a minute for Sam to stop moving and submit.

But he does.

His momentum pulls you forward, so when Sam stops, you slam into his chest. It might have been his plan all along . . . if not, it is now. You look up at Sam, smirking in triumph, and turn, his hand -now on your shoulder- being led back to his room.

Once inside, you close the door, lock it, and turn on a small lamp so you can see his face. You pulled him forward into the room until the back of your legs bumped the side of his bed. You turn, taking a pillow from his bed and laying it on the floor before looking back up at Sam, expectantly. "Kneel."

He takes a moment, looking down at you, letting you weight the fact that he was taller, stronger, maybe faster . . . and then he knelt down at your feet. From this position, he looked up at you, nuzzling between your legs. "Let me take care of you."

You cup his face with your hand, caressing his cheek and utter a single word: "Yes."

Sam smiles, eyes never leaving yours as he strips off your shoes, your socks, your pants and underwear, tossing them each out of his way and towards the door in turn. When he has you the way he needs you, his hands slide up to cup your ass, pulling you to him, holding you in place, keeping you from falling. Sam licks a long stripe up your inner thigh to the crease between leg and panty line before nuzzling and kissing and licking his way between your legs. His thumbs spread you open, and Sam licks like a man starving for sweets while you writhe and squirm, fingers threading in his hair. Then he shifts his hands, one pressing into the small of your back, the other trailing around to your front, over your hip, coming between your legs, fingers trailing. Two fingers sliding between your legs, lightly stroking around your opening, slicking up, waiting.

"More." Your voice is low and rough, but still the tone of command is there.

He feels your legs go weak, shaking from his tongue and smirks up at you, his face glistening. His fingers slide into you, slowly pumping, curling while his thumb starts to stroke your clit, and his other two fingers slide back to stroke your ass.

"Sam."

It's a beg, a plea. He _knows_. Sam knows how you need to uncoil, to come undone, to have him take you apart, lick by lick. He gives you more because you _need more_ . . . more lips, more tongue, more of his fingers, sliding, pumping, stroking . . . more of him. Sam licks and sucks at you until you cry out, legs going out, head lolling back. When he feels the tension leave you, he lifts you onto his bed -your bed- and keeping close to you, takes off his clothes, tossing them onto yours by the door.

"What do you need?"

"You."

"How?"

You don't bother to respond, your hunger on the rise again. You sit on the edge of the bed, pull off your top, your bra, and Sam smiles down at you.

"See something you like?" He smirks.

"Something I need."

"All yours baby. Take what you need."

So you _take_. You take his ass in your hands, stroking up and down from the meat to his thighs and back, stroking possessively. He moans. He loves the way you _crave_ him on days like this. Your mouth begins to suckle at his cock, just the head at first, and Sam's hands, which are on your shoulders now, rubbing, feel you relax.

What is it about him? The way the feel of massaging his ass under your hands makes you calm . . . the feel and taste of Sam in your mouth: hard, salty, tangy, perfect . . . the way he's moaning, groaning . . . the way his thighs tense against your cheeks . . . his hands clutch at your back . . . it's solace. You open your throat and take him deeper while Sam struggles to stay on his feet. When you feel his thighs start to tremble in earnest, you pull off . . . slowly. Sam gasps like he's coming up for air when you pull back, eyeing his weeping cock with almost feline appreciation and then at his face. He's wrecked . . . utterly wrecked . . . utterly yours. "Lie on the bed." You point to the mattress behind you.

Sam takes your hands, kisses the knuckles as he lowers himself and pulls you closer.

You straddle yourself over him, but instead of seating yourself on him, you hover over his body, regarding him.

Sam shivers, feeling the weight of the predatory gaze in your eyes. The way you look like you want to devour him alive. He sees you eye the scarf still tied to his wrist. "Should I tie myself to the bed?"

You shake your head. "Just be still, pet." You position yourself so the tip of him is _just_ inside you and hold, gently rocking, caressing the head of his cock with your opening, slicking it up.

Sam's eyes close as he forces himself to be still, to not pull you onto him, while you struggle not to drive yourself onto him. You take deep shared breaths to regain your calm. Then you take hold of the scarf and pull his hand to you. Sam watches as you take one long finger and suck it into your mouth, his eyes flicking between yours and your mouth. You can feel him shake again, and you're no better.

"Please."

That's all he says to you: please, but you never could resist those enormous puppy eyes, and he's begging in earnest with them now. You let go of his finger just to the tip, and then slide it into your mouth while you slide back onto him. The guttural sound coming from both of you is beyond filthy as you seat yourself on him. You take Sam's captive hand and put it on your hip and indicate with your head that he should do the same with his other hand before you lean down to finally kiss him.

While your breaths and tongues come together, your hips move and the rest of your bodies come together too. You ride Sam hard, grinding yourself into him, and he pulls you closer, guiding your hips, making the friction tighter. He has one hand on your hip, his thumb stroking your clit while you pull the other one up to your chest. His fingers roll your nipple while he palms the rest of your breast.

He knows you're close. "Come on, gorgeous. I'm right here. Let it go."

"Sam . . . I need." Your hips roll, mercilessly, seeking.

"You've got me, just take what you need. You're so perfect like this."

"I need you to come with me."

"I will. God, you feel so good. Take us over the edge. I'm with you. Please baby more; take it all out on me. Let it go."

A few more frantic moments and you're there: vision, white, breath gone, going limp over him. Sam's hands both hold onto your hips in earnest pulling you closer, pushing into you a few more times before you hear him come with a strangled groan.

You melt over him, boneless, and he helps you drop onto his chest. In a minute, he can roll you both, clean you up, and tuck you in, but right now you're home with him and that can wait.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to Spectaculacular-Sammy for being my sounding board and beta. Her writing is awesome and you should definitely check it out.


End file.
